Badland Bride (18 page)
"Him and his bones. But I gotta hand it to him, if anyone could become successful finding old bones, it would be Skeeter.” Willamina waved to Kid. “Well, bring it on over. He'll just have to see it when he gets home."
Eva walked behind Kid, her footsteps as quiet and shy as her personality. When he set the large load on the wide hearth, the girl carefully removed the canvas covering.
Lila was dumb-struck. “Eva, it-it's gorgeous. I don't know what to say.” She stepped forward to touch the edge of the painting. “Thank you."
It was like the one Kid and Jessie had, but of her and Skeeter. His head full of gold-touched curls was slightly tilted back, a wide smile covered his handsome face, and his eyes sparkled with just enough mischief to make her heart skip a beat. The girl had expertly captured his rugged good looks and jubilant personality. His arm, wrapped around her shoulder, held her to his side as she looked up at him.
The breath stilled in her lungs. The woman in the picture was beautiful. Dressed in her lilac covered wedding gown, she had one hand on Skeeter's chest. The expression on her painted face made her heart skip every other beat. The eyes she always thought were dull green looked luminescent as her gaze stared up at his laughing ones. The glint or sparkle Eva painted in them showed exactly how she felt, even though she hadn't yet admitted it even to herself. The young girl's acute talent had found it, and exposed it for the entire world to see. Skeeter Quinter was the love of her life.
She pressed a hand to the tumbles in her stomach, caressing the area as the baby moved. It was several minutes before she tugged her gaze away from the painted couple and looked at the background on the canvas. The moonscape hills of the Badlands and the tall, spiral pillar of Castle Rock rose out of the ground to stretch high into a brilliant blue sky. The faint makings of an eagle floated amongst fluffy white clouds.
Her gaze went to Eva. A soft, timid smile tugged on the girl's lips.
"How?” Lila asked.
Willamina stepped forward. Wrapped an arm around Eva and gave a slight nod, encouraging the girl to talk.
"I-I drew a picture of the two of you the morning you stopped by our house,” Eva said in a soft voice.
"But the background, it's-it's perfect."
Willamina nodded. “We camped over that way for the past couple of days so she could get it exactly as she wanted it. Did a right fine job if you ask me."
"Yes, yes, she did.” Lila stepped toward Eva. “I love it, thank you.” She wrapped her arms around the girl. “I've never had a gift I've liked more."
Eva hugged her back, her small body trembling as she said, “You're welcome."
"It had just dried enough for us to wrap up when the storm hit yesterday.” Willamina said, glancing at the painting as if checking for damage. “That friend of yours liked it real well, too."
"Whose friend?” Lila asked, wondering why Willamina was looking at her.
"Yours."
She shook her head. “I don't have any friends here. Well—I mean besides all of you.” Her glance included the family gathered in the living room.
The old woman frowned, wrinkles covered her face. “That feller from Hays. Said his name was Pete somethin’ or another."
Lila's world went black.
Skeeter dismounted. Cautiously, he glanced over his shoulder and slowly moved forward to examine the flattened grass. Crouched down, he ran a hand over the blades as his gaze went to the horizon. The entire excavation site was visible in the small valley below. A small clump of trees behind him had given cover to whoever had sat here.
He stood, scanned the ground in all directions. The morning dew had already dried from the grass, leaving no noticeable signs of the direction the unknown watcher may have moved. No signs as to who it could have been.
The August sun was a scorcher, heat licked across his shoulders even though it was well before mid-day. He shrugged, rubbed his tired eyes. The long sleepless night left him fatigued. He'd spent several hours sitting with the sentry, waiting for another unusual coyote howl. One hadn't come, and he should have gone to the tent, but for some reason he hadn't—couldn't. An uneasy dread in the air had kept his hackles up.
The rest of the camp hadn't sensed it, and he decided to keep his anxieties to himself. Without a word, he'd ridden out as the sun rose. Behind him the gelding snorted, flicked its tail at pesky flies. Skeeter gazed about. Yellow-brown buffalo grass covered the land, stretched out as far as he could see. Nothing looked out of place. Maybe all that was bothering him was the disarray of his life.
A rustle behind him made him pivot, slap a hand to the holster strapped on his hips. His grasp eased off the walnut-handled pistol as a prairie chicken noisily scampered from her roost. He turned back to the flattened grass near his feet.
Marsh
. The man could easily have intercepted Yokel's message to Cope about the new specimen he'd found. If so, the man would have wasted no time in sending spies out to try and steal the bones. Skeeter walked to his horse, mounted. After a final glance around he nudged the gelding forward, searching for other signs the spies may have left behind as he set a course to circle the excavation area.
His mind wandered as he rode—Lila, the baby, the unexplainable man at the tunnel, the Bone War. When had his life become so complicated? Little more than a month ago his only worries had been what type of gifts he should pick up for Buffalo Killer's tribe. A smile tried to tug on his lips. Peaches. Had he known how much the brave liked the canned fruit he wouldn't have wasted his money on colored beads.
As if the mere thought of the Redman could make him appear, a faint figure formed far ahead. Skeeter squinted against the sunlight. A horseman, with his rifle held high above his head rode toward him. He copied the greeting. Miles apart, it was several minutes before they met.
"My braves saw your man,” Buffalo Killer said as his horse stopped. The black and white painted pony glistened with sweat.
Skeeter rubbed against the tickle of hair standing on end at the back of his neck. “My man?"
"From cave."
His head whipped around, scanning the area. “Where?"
Buffalo Killer nodded. “You saw where he slept."
"Where is he now?"
The Indian shrugged, glanced toward the excavation site. “He go when sun rose."
"Were your braves here all night? Talking to each other with coyote yips?"
Buffalo Killer cracked a quick smile, shrugged.
Skeeter didn't comment, already knew the answer the brave hadn't admitted. “Did they get a good look at him?"
"Many hairs on face."
His body tightened so hard the gelding jumped. Pete Hawkins had a full beard and mustache. Skeeter tried to shake the strain gripping his body and patted the horse's neck, calming the mount.
"There are more."
"More? More what?"
"Men."
"Where?"
"Watch diggers."
"Who are they?"
Buffalo Killer shrugged. “Not from future."
He'd been right. Marsh's men were here too. “How many?"
Another shoulder shrug was his only answer.
"Damn it, I wish you'd learn how to talk,” Skeeter huffed, and pulled his hat off to wipe the sweat dotting his forehead.
A deep scowl pulled Buffalo Killers dark brows together. “I talk.” He patted his chest with a fist.
"With one syllable,” Skeeter growled. “Why can't you give me a full sentence? Tell me what I need to know without me having to pull it out of you like a hog stuck in the mud."
Buffalo Killer pulled on the mane of his bridle-less horse, twisting it away.
"No, stop.” Skeeter reached over, laid a hand on the brave's arm. “I'm sorry."
The arm beneath his hand went lax. “You worry?"
"Yes, I'm worried,” Skeeter admitted. “I'm worried about Lila, about the baby, about Pete Hawkins finding her, about Marsh's men attacking Cope's.” A deep sigh left his body. “Yes, my friend, I'm very worried."
Buffalo Killer laid his other hand atop Skeeter's still on his forearm. “I help, my friend. I help."
He sighed, glanced toward the excavation site. “Thank you, now if I just had a plan."
Buffalo Killer leaned his head back and an eerie shot ripped up Skeeter's spine as the brave let out several loud, coyote-sounding yips.
Shrugging off the sensation, he glanced around the area as answering yips echoed over the land. One by one mounted braves appeared. Stepping out from behind narrow trees, boulder clumps, and into the horizon's edge circling them.
As the dozen or so tribesmen starting riding closer, Buffalo Killer said, “We help. We help you plan."
Confused, fuzzy headed, Lila woke, and needed a few moments before recognizing the rich decorations of her bedroom. A cool cloth lay across her forehead. Heavy lidded, she glanced to the woman sitting on the bed beside her. “What happened?"
"You fainted.” Jessie removed the cloth. “Hog said you haven't eaten anything today. Is that true?"
Lila would have searched her mind, checked for memories of eating, if it had mattered, but it didn't, so she simply closed her eyes.
"You know, for someone who claims to know so much about how pregnant women need to take care of themselves, you aren't very good at following your own advice."
She frowned, gazed up at Jessie. Humor tinted the blue eyes looking back at her.
Jessie leaned over, patted her cheek. “I'm teasing. How are you feeling now? Dizzy? Lightheaded?"
"No, no I'm fine.” A thump, or thud, or some other odd noise sounded somewhere in the house. The disturbance made memories flood her mind. A hard, tight knot formed in her chest. “Pete! Willamina said she saw Pete.” She pressed her hand to the mattress, tried to sit up.
Jessie stopped her movement with gentle pressure. “Calm down. Just lie there for a moment."
Lila flopped her head against the pillow. “How did he get here?” Despite the heat of the day, a shiver raced over her body. “The tunnel! It must be open again.” A burning sob swelled in her throat. “Oh, God! What if he's hurt Skeeter?” She grabbed Jessie's hand. “What are we gonna do? We have to find him."
Jessie wrapped her other hand around their clasped ones. “
We
aren't going to do anything.
You
are going to lay right here until Ma has a chance to examine you, make sure everything's all right."
Jessie pressed a finger to Lila's mouth when she tried to protest.
"Kid is talking with Willamina. He'll find out all she knows and then decide what to do. Don't worry, he won't let anything happen to Skeeter."
Lila twisted her head. “You people can't protect each other like you think you can. We need the police. The FBI. The CIA.” Her head swam, and hot, burning tears began to force their way out of her eyes.
Jessie's fair hair pressed against Lila's shoulder, arms wrapped her into a hug. “Shh. Don't cry. Have faith in Skeeter. In Kid. In all the brothers.” She sat up, framed Lila's cheeks with her palms. “I don't know who those others are you mentioned. The police, FBI or CIA. But have faith in your family Lila. We won't let you down."
Lila pressed her head deeper into the pillow, closed her eyes.
Faith!
What good was faith? Faith had trapped her in the past right after she'd asked for her ghost back. Who'd turned out to be Skeeter, a wonderful man, but now he was in danger. Deadly danger. If what she'd read on the internet was true, Pete Hawkins had murdered before. He was wanted in connection with a missing girl from Topeka, but since a body had never surfaced, he'd never been arrested. Oh, God, what if Pete had killed Skeeter? What if they never found his body?
A ripping sob tore across her chest. She couldn't live without her husband—didn't want to live without Skeeter. She pushed Jessie away and rolled onto her side as deep cries bubbled out. Pressing her face deep into the pillow, she wept, letting the pain completely absorb her.
Sometime later, cried out and exhausted, she couldn't even muster up a protest as Ma Quinter completed a thorough examination. Afterwards, dressed in a cotton nightgown, her motherin-law tucked her between the covers.
Turning toward Jessie, Stephanie Quinter said, “She'll be fine. Just needs a day in bed to get her strength back."
The two stepped further away from the bed. Lila closed her eyes. Sleep would be a luxury—one she didn't deserve.
"Damn boy! I'm gonna wallop him good when he gets back. Leaving her here while he goes off to check his bones. That boy never could hold his horses. Can't sit still long enough for grass to grow beneath his feet,” Stephanie rambled.
Lila opened her eyes, closed them again. “No, it's all my fault.” She rolled her head from side to side, dull thuds of pain pounded at her temples. “Don't blame him.” A burning lump scorched her throat. “It's my fault he left."
Stephanie took her hand. “No, it's not your fault, honey."
"Yes it is!” She blurted. “I hadn't told him I'm giving the baby away.” A sob burst out. “He was so hurt."
A sputtered cough echoed across the room.
Lila opened her eyes in time to see Jessie grabbed Stephanie's shoulders and guide her to the door. “Ma, please go get Kid, we need to find out what Willamina told him."
Ma Quinter's lips opened and closed, and her face had turned bright red. Lila shut her eyes, rolled onto her side. A second later the door clicked shut.
The side of the bed dipped, and Jessie ran a hand over the side of Lila's face, brushed her hair aside. “I don't think you should talk about that right now."
Pain engulfed her chest. “What if he doesn't come back? What if Pete has hurt him?"
"Shh...don't talk now."
"I love him so much."
"I know you do, and he loves you too.” Jessie continued to run a comforting hand over her hair, across her shoulders. “Just rest now."
Exhausted, numb with pain, Lila couldn't do anything except nod.
The western sky held the bright sun when she woke several hours later. Shafts of afternoon light shooting through the window, spread a blanket of sparkling diamonds across the top of the chest of drawers where Skeeter's shaving brush sat in a small cup, his razor lying beside it. Her lips twitched. He'd been in her dreams. Smiling, he'd held her in those strong, solid arms, and assured her he was fine.